


Petition

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Civil Union, Divorce, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-07
Updated: 2007-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petition

They weren’t the first ones to do this, but close enough. Close enough that there was more gray than black and white, processes weren’t completely in place, no one seemed to fully understand their roles, and it took forever and a day. If they’d compromised and worked together, it would have taken far less time, but then again if they’d been willing to compromise and work together, they wouldn’t have been doing _this_ at all.

House signed the last paper with a hideously expensive Mont-Blanc pen while Wilson sat, arms crossed and jaw clenched, his Sloan-Kettering employee badge glinting in the light. He was wearing that stupid green silk tie, and House had to resist the urge to flick it as he walked out.

An hour later House had found Constance’s number and was listening to the phone ring. Constance, Wilson’s first and prettiest wife, had been in his life the shortest time and therefore hadn’t grown to hate House _completely_.

“Hi,” he said when she answered. “It’s Greg. I’ve joined the club.”

“So I read,” she replied. At his pause, she clarified, “Slow news time, I suppose, and local papers thought ‘world-famous doctor in nasty gay marriage break-up’ would be good filler.”

“Wanna fuck?”

“No. But I’ll take a coffee.”

The Starbucks employees had given up on cheer, and that lifted House’s mood a bit. They found an actual table, none of this low couch, intimate seating nook crap.

“I got alimony,” House noted.

“Yeah, that was in the paper. First time for a civil union.” She sipped her coffee and watched him, waiting.

He explained, “It was the leg. Judge thought it was likely that I’d no longer be able to work in the near future. Of course, my thigh’s about as fucked up as it’s going to get, and I could do – have done – my job from a hospital bed. But somehow Jimmy’s lawyer wasn’t able to convince the judge of those truths.” The coffee was smooth, not nearly as bitter or as strong as House wanted. He drank it anyway.

Constance still waited.

“Are you over him yet?” House asked, as he watched her fingers tap against her cup.

She raised the coffee to her lips, pausing just enough to say, “I’m remarried and have a kid.”

“I heard. But that doesn’t answer the question.”

She put the cup down on the table and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Why do you want to know? What do you want from me?”

It was House’s turn to look away. Someone had scribbled an obscene joke in Spanish on the wall next to their table. “I’m just looking for a crystal ball.”

“Trying to use other people as a proxy for your own emotions? He’s rubbed off on you too much.”

House took a quick glance at Constance and then looked down into the dregs of his coffee. “Yeah.”


End file.
